


Yes.

by AeeDee



Series: The Miracle [4]
Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fill from the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tronkinkmeme/">Tron kink meme</a>, which asked for a marriage proposal.  In a way, I view this as the conclusion of the previous Alan/Sam fics I've done.  It suits my headcanon quite nicely, to give them their happy ending. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes.

Sometimes there are moments like this.

Sam’s sitting on the floor, leaning forward as he pets Marv, scratching his back. A smile lingers on his face, and he’s making incoherent, childish noises to tease the animal, who’s absolutely oblivious to his ridiculous affection. That little furball just stares at him, eyes wide, nose sniffing the air as if searching for something.

Alan stands a few feet away, taking in the scene in silence, a calm joy in his heart. And when he decides to come closer and sit down beside Sam, he’s greeted with a slightly different variant of that smile, a more genuine kind that only he ever saw.

Sam pauses in his attentions to Marvin, just for a moment. Alan leans in, and predictably, Sam moves to complete a kiss, a quick and effortless greeting. It’s so customary that it’s normal, but it’s the kind of normalcy that comforts them both.

“I’m home,” Alan laughs a little, as he settles in, getting comfortable. And the moment Marv notices him there, the dog’s rumbling and crawling towards him, as the man welcomes him with open hands.

And Sam laughs, his voice warm and soft, “Hi, Alan.”

But.

Sometimes there are moments like this.

This-

“So, that kid… Is that your son?”

“What?” it takes him a moment to refocus, and return to the present. He readjusts his glasses to buy a few seconds, while he tries to clear his head.

The air is serene, with the sound of birds chirping in the distance. A faint rumble of traffic. The blanket of sunlight, which bathes the city for miles. The patio is slowly emptying out, guests departing from the small white tables as the lunch hour comes to an end.

“The picture in your wallet,” the woman’s voice is polite and cautious, as if she knows she’s overstepped some invisible boundary. “I’m sorry,” she chuckles a little, shrugging to herself, “I know I shouldn’t be looking at other peoples’ things…”

“No, it’s alright,” but he still has no idea what to say. “It was my carelessness for leaving it out…”

When the waiter comes by and picks up the cardholder envelope from their table, Alan takes advantage of the moment to try and change the subject, “That was a great meal.”

But when Alan turns back to the woman, she’s missed his cue, “I have a daughter, myself,” with a sly smile.

“Oh-”

“She’s a bit younger, though. Still in high school,” with a nod, as she idly stirs her drink with the straw.

“I see,” he’s polite, but it takes all he can manage to hide his discomfort.

“And yours?” She smiles again, her mauve lips shining, her kind eyes glancing in his direction, “How old is he?”

“Ah,” he scratches his neck idly, “You know, I should…” He stops. There it is again. The archaic programming. That line of script in his head that rehearses the familiar excuse, and rehashes some familiar lie to make it sound believable. That line of doubt, that line of anxiety and concern and- He’d promised himself he’d break free of it. Somehow. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t-

“Yes?” she asks, perplexed.

He chuckles nervously, forcing it out, “He’s not my son.”

And when she gives him a blank look-

“That’s actually… my partner.”

She maintains that look for a moment, before laughing nervously, “Well.”

“Well,” he mimics in a joking tone, to attempt to lighten the mood.

She idly toys with her napkin, refolding its corners as if to occupy a sudden burst of nervous energy, “And here I thought I was onto something,” with an almost erratic giggle that was more of a rattle than a laugh.

“I’m sorry?” he hides his offense with a lightened tone, the way a gentleman would.

“You know,” she sighs in an oddly condescending way, leaning her face into her hand for a moment, “handsome man, no ring on his finger… and I saw that picture and just- you know…”

“Yeah, I understand,” he lets her down easy.

“It’s true, all the good ones are gay,” she finally relaxes, giving a more genuine-seeming smile.

And Alan’s returning that smile out of good humor, until-

“But it is surprising.”

“What is?”

“He seems a bit… young,” she frowns. She doesn’t hold that expression for long, but-

Alan knows that look. It’s the look of polite, politically correct disapproval. That’s the _I think you’re a pervert but I’m too kind to say it to your face_ look that just flashed across her face. He’s tries not to let it bother him. He really tries.

But sometimes that’s easier said than done. “We’re very happy together,” he says.

And he says it in such a blunt, direct way that he voluntarily shuts her down. She creases the edge of her napkin for the final time as the waiter returns, and hands him back his card and receipt. And that woman says nothing as he signs his name under the price; apart from giving him a sly look, as if trying to catch his attention.

But just when he thinks she’s done, she gives a curt murmur, “You shouldn’t go on dates if you’re taken.”

The look he gives her is honest; startled, and appalled. His eyes widen behind his lenses, which reflect the glimpse of a car that passes by one street over, “I wasn’t aware this was one.”

“Then why did you pay for me,” she smirks rudely, her face tense apart from her upturned mouth.

“Because I’m _polite_ ,” he almost snarls. “And you seemed like a decent enough person.”

“I am decent,” she snaps back. “I just don’t think you should be sending mixed signals like this.”

“Like what-”

“A picture like that. What do you expect people to think.”

Before he can reply back to her, he just. He sits still for a moment. He looks at her, dead in the face. And he thinks of that photograph. That photograph, taken just a few minutes after he’d gotten home for the evening, when his shift ended just an hour after Sam’s. He hadn’t planned ahead to take it, but he thought the scene was just so calming, so comforting, so reassuring that after a long and stressful day at the job he wanted to preserve it, to keep it safe.

Sam, sitting on the floor, with a wide-eyed Marv in his lap, staring at the camera as if confused. Sam… Sam’s smile could light up a room.

Alan shakes a little, as he pulls out his wallet again, and slides his credit card back in. He pauses when he sees that photograph; he’s amazed a little more each time he sees it. Because each time he sees it, that moment is even more peaceful, even more beautiful than he remembered it. It was more perfect every time he laid eyes on it.

And when he closed that wallet back up, he had just one reply for her. “I expect them to assume that I am a happy, contented man.”

“Yeah, but-”

But he doesn’t listen for the rest of what she says. He rises from the table, excusing himself with a polite, “Have a good afternoon, Amy,” and a friendly nod to excuse the stress between them.

Good afternoon, indeed.

But at the end of that afternoon, when he was finally able to walk into the front door of the apartment he shared with Sam-

That smile he received, even from across the room rendered all those hours, and that awful conversation irrelevant.

“Hey, Alan,” that warm voice.

“Sam,” because that was all he had- no, all he needed to say.

_Sam._

-

Sometimes, Alan is surprised at the sight of his own hand. Well, not the hand specifically. The hand itself is normal, except that there’s a certain something missing from his fingers.

That woman wasn’t the only person to notice the lack of a ring. She wasn’t the only person to mention it, although her way of pointing it out was decidedly more rude than most. He’d even been asked casually by a few of his male coworkers, as if they suddenly realized its new absence. But that was not a surprise either. Alan had known some of them for so long, many of them had met his wife on several different occasions when they were still married.

Ordinary, straight men would never comment specifically on the ring; they weren’t looking in the same way that an interested woman like Amy might. But they’d mention their wives casually, and glance at him as if curious, confused, wondering… Like a thought had briefly passed their mind and left before they could work up the nerve to ask.

He’d taken great care to not mention her anymore. Not since she stormed out that late evening. She’d returned the next day, but that was only to have the inevitable _It looks like we’re done now_ discussion. She was remarkably calm then, but she looked like she hadn’t slept all night. Her face was exhausted, like she’d just… cried… cried, and cried.

Alan had never felt that kind of guilt before. Never.

When he packed his suitcases and boxes to move in with Sam, he was somewhat excited. He’d once believed he’d grow old in that old house, but the thought of living with the man he loved, the one being he loved more than anything was- It was phenomenal. It gave him a thrill he found difficult to shake. For that brief moment in time, it overwhelmed and drowned out the sorrow of what he’d done to her.

That was a kind of guilt Sam could probably never understand. He was young, and lacked that level of regret. He’d never had the chance to hurt someone, to really _hurt_ someone for such a selfish reason. Sam only knew the fleeting emotions; anger, sadness, loss, emotions that would heal. But regret was something that never completely went away. Regret was something that burned every time you thought of it.

It’d been a few months since then. Months that felt like forever, in those peaceful moments after work, in the quiet evening hours. When he’d lean in, just lean against his shoulder and listen to him breathing, that soft and rhythmic sound, the habitual rise and fall of his chest. Sometimes Sam would make fun of him, a small laugh as he’d call him weird, and muse about what he was thinking. But Sam really had no idea.

“I love you more than you could ever know,” that was what he thought. But he’d never said it. He’d never been able to force it out, no matter how often he ran that line through his head. The words sounded right; the meaning was correct. Everything about that statement was exactly the way he wanted to deliver it. But even though he’d spent years with the ability to spill out statements like this at will around his wife, he couldn’t manage anything beyond a fluffed up, “I love you,” to Sam. It was almost too sacred. The words hurt too much to be said.

In a way, it frightened him. He didn’t have much time left. No time to fuck up another relationship. Unlike that young, beautiful man, Alan was nearing the end of his journey through life. He could see Death’s door slowly opening, and he knew that even though he was just crossing the middle of the road, it would only go downhill from here. But Sam- Sam was still going up. Sam would continue to rise.

It intimidated him, having a lover like that. It made him uneasy to love someone that would outlive him by around twenty, maybe even thirty years. He didn’t want to leave him alone. He didn’t want to deal with the particular, horrifying regret of dying. He’d already inflicted a sudden separation once before, and he wasn’t the kind of man to smile and do it again.

It would be a thousand times worse, because he loved Sam. He genuinely, from the depths of his soul and not just from a signature on a legal contract, loved him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for him, but this would be out of his control.

Death was an inevitable outcome he could never outrun. And when he reached that finish line, Sam would still be a significant, crucial few miles behind.

That was the thought that came to mind, when he’d first become aware of that missing ring on his finger. He hadn’t paid any attention to it before, because he’d been so lost in fixing up the mess of divorce paperwork and settling into his new life. But that…

When he proposed to his wife, he was completely enamored with the future. Life was still fresh and brilliant, there were adventures to be had and a purpose to be found. There was a grand plan for him somewhere, waiting to be found. He was in Sam’s shoes, ambitious and curious and intelligent and looking for the right challenge.

And he’d promised his wife that he’d take her along for the ride, every step of the way. A man can’t make that promise again without choking on his words. Because it was supposed to mean something the first time. It was supposed to be genuine, or never said at all.

He didn’t doubt his commitment to Sam. Never. But sometimes…

Sometimes, the guilt got a little bit heavy. That guilt came from various sources inside his mind. Guilt that he was dating such a young man. Guilt that he’d betrayed his wife’s trust. Guilt that he’d damaged their peaceful family. Guilt that, unlike everyone else his age, he was still _dating_. Dating! At his age.

Guilt that he was playing a young kid’s game.

But Sam…

Alan would lean against his shoulder, and when Sam would laugh, his whole body would shake. Alan had memorized the way he’d smile, and he’d play the image in his mind whenever he heard the sound. It was second nature, like how he could perfectly time the average rate at which he’d breathe, or the usual, quiet and murmured voice he’d use to make a sly comment whenever he thought Alan was being especially sentimental.

But Sam never pushed Alan back. He never turned away his attention, or denied him his right to dwell in those moments, to sit still and occupy his space, and squander what little free time they had together. He never complained, not about that. He’d tease all he wanted, but it was never malicious.

On some mornings, they were like a pair of newlyweds. The weekends were relaxed and slow, and they’d stay in bed and just enjoy each other’s company. Saying little, doing little beyond the occasional bout of fooling around. Just existing, in peace and calm that would last until whenever Marv rolled out of bed and came to whine for some breakfast.

And on those mornings, he could never touch him enough. He could never kiss him enough, he could never listen enough, take enough glances, or caution himself to remember enough things. On those mornings when it was just them alone in the world, Sam was an obsession; Sam was his drug.

And on those mornings, sometimes…

Sometimes, he’d think it’d be nice to wear a ring again. It’d be nice to legitimately defend their relationship. It’d be nice to legalize their taxes, and the many things they’d bought on each other’s bank accounts. It’d be nice to not have to stress about his will being enforced, since he’d chosen to leave so much to _that kid_. It’d be nice to be given some authority over Sam’s well-being, in the eyes of the law and court, because god only knew how much Hell that kid could raise.

And when Alan did have to meet his inevitable end, it’d be nice if Sam were able to be there at his side, for every single one of his last minutes. And god forbid, it’d be nice to able to do the same for him, if fortune was not so kind.

But genuinely, more than anything, it’d be nice to say “I do,” and to truly mean it.

That was the thought that would often keep Alan awake at night, when he’d remember that look on his wife’s face, just before she left.

It really would be nice. But that...

That was a promise he’d already made. Time was running short. And it was reckless and absurd to waste any of their time or money in securing a union that was impractical and unpredictable.

Sam was young, and powerful. Sam was at the height of his life. And if he ever found someone as beautiful and amazing as he was, it’d be kind to give him the freedom to walk away. It would be a common courtesy. To give him the chance to leave, and seize the chance to completely live out his golden years with a partner of equal opportunities and fortitude.

When Alan was alone with his thoughts, that idea made complete sense, regardless of how much it ached.

But sometimes, there’s a moment like this.

Sam’s reclining on the edge of the bed, his legs tangled in sheets as he loudly counts to five, no- seven, no wait- ten. When Alan asks what he’s doing, with a playful hand running down his back, Sam just nods and says to himself, “Yeah, ten.”

“Ten what,” he smiles a little, not knowing what to expect.

“In ten years, I want a house with a picket fence.”

Alan starts to laugh, but-

“I figure, in three we can really get Encom off the ground. We’ll get ‘er out of this hole. In five or so I can start selling my shares, or maybe appoint someone else in charge of my primary share. In seven that’ll put you at- how old, Alan-”

“…65.”

“Right, so by 65 I’m sure you’d want to relax a bit, right?” He glances back, before he continues his explanation, “So you can start winding down at 65, and by 68 we’ll both settle down, maybe somewhere like Portland-”

“Sam, you’re only gonna be 37,” he tries his hand at some reality, before the kid gets too many ideas.

But somehow that doesn’t stick. “So what,” he slurs his voice a little. “You know what kinda life they have up there? Way better than this dump.”

“But this busy city’s nice for a guy like you, Sam.”

“It’s overrated,” he whines, as he leans back and collapses against the bed, landing with a soft thud a mere foot away from Alan. He stares at the ceiling, but his eyes are relaxed and calm, “I want a nice neighborhood, and a nice house. And a good man to keep me company,” with a small grin.

“Sam,” Alan isn’t sure exactly what he wants to say, but- He knows it’s something important. Something on the edge of his mind…

“Alan,” he almost purrs, his voice quiet and oddly sensual. Like he’s in just the right mood to really enjoy the sound.

“What’ll you do in twenty years.”

“How am I supposed to know,” he chuckles a little. “All I know is that I’ll be, what, 47-”

“I’ll be nearing 80…”

“No, you’ll be 78,” he corrects him, a hint of sarcasm on his voice. “Come on Alan, you’re not that tired, right..”

“88 in thirty years,” Alan is getting lost in his own thoughts, “and 98, no, probably deceased in forty.”

“…Alan?” for the first time in a great while, Sam’s voice is showing a hint of concern.

“So you’ll be a 67-year-old widower.”

Sam doesn’t say a word.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to date at that age, Sam,” he says it with a joking tone, but the subject matter is…

“What the hell, Alan,” Sam is irritated, his voice a deep growl.

“I mean, I’m not a single man but I’ve heard from other people that it’s like… fishing in an empty ocean. Every other fish is either caught, or quick to ignore any lure, no matter how flashy or interesting-”

“I don’t care, Alan,” Sam cuts him off. His abrasive tone is startling, and his voice echoes in the quiet room.

But in that silence…

“Jesus Christ, can you get over it already?” He sits up, too angry to look at the man, but frustrated enough to pay careful attention to his words. “I’m sitting here, talking about our great future and you’re… You’re planning a funeral? Sure,” he snaps bitterly. “Sure, Alan. Better watch out,” he throws his hands up, “We’ve only got _forty_ years to get a house.”

“When a man lives 90 years, that’s not a very long time, Sam,” Alan sagely remarks.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m being realistic,” his bitterness infects every word, “But you know what, I can even move that up. Buy me a house in five years and we’re good.”

“Sam, I’m trying to be rational-”

“Well shut the _fuck_ up with it, Alan.”

And between them, silence.

And the more Alan looks at Sam, the more he studies him, the more he notices his erratic breathing, that deep breathing whenever he’s particularly upset, and unable to express it properly. So instead he just sits still, and breathes. And shakes a little, from the raw force behind each breath, each one as pained and heavy as the last.

He’d never said anything that bold, or that cruel before. Especially not to him.

Alan wants to apologize, but he’s not sure what for. He can’t help his concerns. He can’t help his cautionary warnings and reasonable fears. It’s in his nature. His nature, against all else, is to protect Sam from harm. And to protect Sam from harm, that would include certain scenarios that proved inconvenient, or painful to confront.

And in his fears, his predictions just now had been optimistic. If he fell ill to some disease before those twilight years, he’d be deceased long before Sam reached his 60s, potentially even his 50s if some force or inconceivable event wounded him enough. But-

“What if I die before I’m 35,” Sam suggests.

“What,” it startles him out of his thoughts.

“Let’s say I’m on my bike, and I hit a car. Head hits the pavement, and _boom_ ,” he gestures a collision with his hands, one brushing quickly past the other and sweeping off into the air. “They take me into the ER, but I’m dead in minutes.”

“Sam-”

“Just listen,” he shuts him down immediately, “So I’m dead at 35, and you’re the widower. And when I die, we’re still in this shit apartment, with our same jobs at Encom.”

..He tries to reply, but the words don’t come.

“And we’ve got no dreams or goals, we’re going nowhere because that’s not rational. So we could be 40 and 70, 50 and 80 and we’re still just sitting here, because Alan doesn’t believe in fairytales.”

“Sam-”

“I just don’t care about any of that shit, Alan.” He pauses, but he keeps his eyes fixated on empty space, some space that’s far away, “You could die in five years and I’d still be okay with this.”

But how…

He crawls off the bed, stretching out his body along the way, from the moment his feet hit the floor, and he rises onto his legs and straightens his back out. He gives a low groan, like he’s still half-asleep. “Just buy me a house, in a nice neighborhood, without too many screaming kids everywhere,” he scratches at his neck idly, just nervous energy being expressed. His hand stops in motion, and he lets it fall, “and I’ll die happy. You make me a widower…” He starts the trek towards the bathroom, pausing to glance at Marv, who’s still fast asleep in his basket in the far corner of the room, “I’m gonna be the happiest one on the face of this planet. I’ll be the only one with a smile on his face.”

“Why is that,” he doesn’t fully understand.

He finally turns around completely, turning to look at Alan with an expression that’s far more kind than he expected. More considerate, more at ease. More relaxed. “Because I had a guy like you, Alan.”

And when Sam leaves the room, Alan can feel his heart steadily racing, accelerating and gaining speed like it’s starting to catch the full impact of what he just said.

“Sam,” he calls after him.

From the small bathroom, Sam calls back, “What?”

“I love you,” he says it loudly enough to startle Marv.

Sam laughs, “Thank you Alan.”

No-

_Thank you, Sam._

-

Sam had never agreed to date Alan. It was just something that happened and progressed organically. It started the way nearly every relationship does; a confession, a few inappropriate touches, a passionate kiss. A spontaneous, heated night of sex. Rinse and repeat a few times, and before either of them realized it, they had fallen into a normal routine.

Alan didn’t know when he fell in love with Sam. It just happened. Sometime over the years, there was that point when he started to see him as an attractive adult, and he started to daydream and lust and yearn for him. One thing led to another, and after a terrifying confession he was free to act out his desires.

And Alan had no idea when Sam had fallen in love with him. It just… occurred. Over the months they’d been together, the initial wild and frantic days become steady weeks and before Alan could’ve anticipated it, Sam was falling asleep beside him, and giving kisses just a tad more often than he returned them.

But Alan clearly remembered the first time Sam said, “I love you.”

He’d said it so softly, he almost didn’t hear it. “What?”

“I love you,” he’d murmured it before he moved in a little closer, pulling the sheets up over his body. And he’d fallen completely still, like he genuinely intended to pass out right then. So Alan was quick to murmur an, “I love you too,” as he gently stroked the side of Sam’s face, a move that was partly out of comfort, but more so because he just wanted to feel him, to establish contact, to reassure himself that yes this was real, and yes he was lying in bed next to a man that he loved this much, and that now loved him. But the way Sam said it was so subtle. There were no bells and whistles. No fancy speeches or dramatic lead-ins.

Just a quick _I love you_ , before he went to sleep. And that became their tradition, simple as that.

Truth be told, Alan was a bit stunned then. He was a bit stunned now. He’d never stopped being in awe of their relationship, each morning when he was able to wake up next to Sam without having to leave. When he was able to kiss him at will, freely under the pretense of that amazing person belonging to him. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t reasonable.

Increasingly, over time they became less grounded. And sometimes, sometimes Sam would say something that could change him forever. He’d change the dynamic permanently. With each loving word he’d strengthen his love for him, likely without even realizing it.

He’d heard Sam mention the future before, but never in such certain terms. Sam had a way of viewing life as a fleeting but exciting thing, so it’d rattled him up to hear the kid talk about the future like it already existed. And it wasn’t just an arbitrary space in time. It was a future he envisioned, a future he planned out, a future with Alan.

It didn’t involve anything as fancy as an exchanging of vows, but he knew Sam well enough to know. That was intentionally not subtle. He wasn’t just throwing out a random idea. He was telling the man, commanding him, _You’re gonna grow old with me,_ and Alan didn’t ever want to be strong enough to turn him down on that offer.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he decided it when he was alone the next morning, after he’d arrived in his office. It was a thought he woke up with, a thought he turned over inside his mind countless times on the drive over, while Sam was still passed out in his bed at home. He’d thought about it since he’d given him a usual kiss goodbye, and left quietly to not disturb him. He even thought about it while he slept, because while he slept he dreamed, and when he dreamed he saw the future Sam wanted. He saw that future, and realized it made more sense than any masochistic, rational reality he could have imagined.

He’s all alone in the office, looking forward to another day of monotonous paperwork, an afternoon meeting and a brief lunch date with his boyfriend. It’s a day, same as always. But this one feels different. This one is better.

“I’m gonna marry you, Sam,” and that’s all there was to it.

-

When he told Quorra, she was beyond herself. She was completely ecstatic.

He misbehaved and snuck off to meet with her during office hours, but otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to get away without finding some lie to tell Sam.

When he went to pick her up at the apartment they’d bought for her, she was already waiting outside, giddy at the prospect of whatever exciting news he had to tell. He hadn’t spilled it over the phone, but he said it was urgent, and he assured her—after a quick reaction of concern—that it was far more good than bad. Really, not bad at all.

He took her to a quiet café, intentionally far outside of Sam’s usual radius of haunts. Quorra had never visited the place before, but she was intrigued by the retro décor as soon as they walked in. Her consistent, positive mood was infectious; and between that and his own excitement, Alan couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

And when he said it, his voice was almost a whisper, “I’m gonna propose to Sam.”

But she didn’t fully understand. “Propose what, Alan?” She searched his face eagerly, as if looking for clues.

Normally he would’ve taken more time and care in choosing his words, but he felt too much of a rush to go steady and slow, “Marriage.”

“Marriage between who?” her eyes remained curious, shifting around as she frowned slightly.

“Me and Sam,” he hurriedly answers.

“But you two aren’t-”

“Yes, I know.”

“Then how can you propose something that doesn’t exist?”

He pauses.

She pauses.

He frowns a little, and tries a different approach. “I’m gonna ask Sam to marry me.”

“Marry you!” her voice seems to raise itself, from her sudden excitement. She nods, “I understand,” at the new revelation. “To get married!” she starts shaking, but it’s not from anger.

“Yes,” he speaks calmly, trying to settle her down.

“Wonderful!” her eyes widen, as she smiles at him. “I’m so happy,” and she leans across the table, jumping up to give him a loose embrace.

He hesitantly hugs her back, nervously glancing around to notice a few eyes on them.

From across the room, a particular table starts clapping in their favor. A voice floats by, “Congrats!”

Alan scratches his head and murmurs, “I think they’ve got the wrong idea.”

“What idea is that?” Quorra asks innocently, sitting back down in her seat.

“Ah, nothing.” He just laughs a little. It was no use over-analyzing the situation, and wasting the time to break down what just happened.

Besides, he had far too much else to think about.

-

“I’d better call Quorra,” he slides a hand into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. The light from the screen glows in the rapidly darkening evening, as the sun crawls down behind a skyline of tall buildings and a massive expanse of glittering water.

“Time to feed Marv?” Alan teases him a little, nudging him on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” Sam grins, “She knows the routine, but she forgets sometimes. It’s like she doesn’t realize he needs to eat to live,” as he tinkers with on-screen menus and complex navigation, before putting the phone to his ear.

And while he makes that phone call, Alan’s eyes wander, as he surveys the gathering crowd. Many people in jackets, some unrolling blankets over the grass at their feet. He heard a lot of voices, some ecstatic, some annoyed, some ambivalent, but no voices he could easily distinguish. But he could see the majority of them clearly, their silhouettes defined and each unique, even as more people continued to pour in. The area was becoming more populated than he expected, but he refused to let that change his mind. He’d come too far, to be that much of a coward.

Besides, he’d already taken Sam far outside of their hometown. This relocation wouldn’t mean nearly as much if all they came to do was watch some fireworks. But for what it was worth, Sam was enjoying the town. He loved the lake that resembled the one back home, he loved the buildings, the music, the comfortable parks. He didn’t even mind being away from his darling Marv, because he’d said it was exciting to see the city for himself. He’d been curious about it, even before he happened to bring it up.

Sam said he wanted a house in Portland, so Alan brought him to Portland. He’d even made arrangements to browse a few neighborhoods, just for what he’d deemed casual research. Sam was more speechless than he’d expected, but when Alan said that, he just- He started to smile, and it was the kind of smile that lingered on his face for a long time.

And when he kissed him it was with a happiness, the kind of gratitude that Alan never grew tired of.

He wanted to make him smile like that again. And maybe laugh, or cry this time if he was lucky. If things went his way…

He didn’t know what marriage meant to Sam. He’d never asked. But he knew he didn’t hate it, and that had to mean something encouraging. He’d spoken little about his divorce to him, and he could only hope that his own parents’ happy union, however brief it was, had given him a positive impression of the institution.

He didn’t know how he’d react if Sam turned him down. He didn’t feel insecure in their relationship at all, but that… It was the kind of thing that Alan had spent so much time agonizing over, contemplating, and desiring that he desperately wished for Sam to feel at least a fraction of his desire for it.

To never call his life partner a _boyfriend_ ever again. To wear a ring on his finger without having to apologize or cover for a broken marriage. He was no fool; he knew marriage wasn’t a magical cure-all. The tax advantages were nice and it would ease his mind to have Sam as his legal benefactor but at the heart of it, he was simply a sentimental old fool. He wanted to marry Sam because he wanted to marry him, to claim him completely as his own, to promise a commitment he had every intention of keeping this time. He wanted to make Sam smile and laugh and embrace him among a crowd of a thousand people, just reveling in that moment of being in love.

And now, Sam was off the phone. Time was starting to run out. The figurative clock inside Alan’s head was starting to wind down.

He drifted over to stand closer to Alan, and the man found himself lost for a moment, as the stress of what he was about to do was sinking in. He watched Sam in silence, observing as he was starting to take notice of the crowd, and noted calmly, “That’s a lot of people.”

“I bet the show’s really something,” Alan calmly, averting his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Sam shrugged a little, as he stared out across the vast lake before them, and the distant bridges that lined the skyline. “This is one hell of a view.”

 _I love you._ That sudden thought, out of nowhere. “Yeah, it is.”

Sam smiled a little, but he didn’t say another word. But his silence was comfortable. He was completely at ease, and it showed. His posture was more relaxed than usual, his back less stiff. His face was calm, as if waiting for something to happen.

Alan glanced at the sky; above them, a scatter of prominent stars lurking just above, just beyond the reach of the golden city lights. The sky was turning into a dark blue, and in the distance the buildings had started to light up.

Soon. Soon…

Suddenly. A single burst of thunder, like a shot in a barrel. Within one blink of his eyes, an explosion of fire and dancing rockets scattering into a thousand pieces. A glittering of lights that danced and spiraled into the waters below, only to be replaced by a new starburst, one after another, each one more expansive, grander, and louder than the one before.

And there it was. It began; the smile on Sam’s face.

“Amazing,” was the first word he said.

Sam had always enjoyed fireworks. When he was younger, each year during the days preceding the fourth of July, he’d ask and attempt to persuade everyone, anyone into taking him to see them. Even if the weather forecast had ruled out the chance of them happening, he’d insist on going anyway, just to make sure he didn’t miss it.

When he grew older, and after his parents were both gone, his grandparents lacked the energy to take him, and Alan himself lacked the time. He’d given the boy plenty of empty promises, but he could rarely deliver on them. And while they stood there, Alan was thinking back on all those years. At the sight of Sam’s delighted face, as he watched the shift and changing of colors and lights reflected against his skin, he began to wonder what moments he’d missed. He wondered what memories they could have experienced, before all of this, just as the father and son they once were. He’d rarely been able to see this look of joy on his face, or the way he’d laugh a little at some of the particularly loud booms and shots that’d go off.

He took advantage of that sensation, that guilt mixing uncomfortably with anxiety and appreciation and affection. He leaned in, whispering against his ear, startling him a little, “I love you.”

When Sam turned to look at him, surprised but still with that look of happiness on his face, he was murmuring an “I love you too, Alan,” as the man took a step back away from him.

Sam frowned for a second, confused-

And when Alan got down onto one knee, his entire expression changed.

But instead of a ring, Alan had something small and paper-thin in his hand. He held it out, as an apprehensive Sam accepted it, and turned it over.

_That picture._

“Alan,” he was laughing a little. But that laugh faded into the rattling of the fireworks above them, and he was rendered speechless when the man pulled a small box out of his pocket, before lifting open the lid.

“Sam,” his voice was calm, but his heart was going at a faster rate than he’d ever felt before. If Sam didn’t accept, and if he didn’t accept soon, he might lose control. But for now, he kept his face as calm as he could. He maintained eye contact, gazing at him as the fireworks continued to roll, and the crowd continued to talk excitedly with each new burst, and-

Sam was slowing losing his breath, and his eyes grew wide as he took in the scene.

“Will you marry me,” he said it without completely being aware of it, the words just seemed to spill out. In one instant it was a thought, and the next, they were freed and spoken.

But Sam, he- He didn’t say anything. He appeared to just.. shake. His body was shaking, and his breathing became erratic, and he almost dropped that photograph. He tilted his head, as if wanting to ask a question.

That look he gave him; it scared Alan to death.

It took another boom to shake him up, and he blinked a few times, readjusting his stance as he exhaled, shaking his head a little, with a smile that was either guilty or sarcastic, Alan couldn’t tell one way or the other, and he said, “Come on, Alan.”

Wait-

He shook his head again, with a small laugh as he raised his voice to carry above the sound, “Why are you even asking?”

Before Alan could react, Sam was moving forward, extending his hands with open palms, beckoning him to stand. And there was a smile on his face, a smile that could light up a room.

When Alan rose to his feet, he was caught up in a warm embrace. He had his arms around Sam, but the exchange was mutual; Sam held onto him tightly, like he was afraid to let go. The boy was like a cat, relaxing contentedly as he sighed and continued to curl himself around him, his face against his neck, his arms crawling across his back, their bodies pressed together.

Alan was about to speak, when Sam pulled back for a moment, to kiss him firmly on the side of the face. He drew back just a little further, to establish direct a line of eye contact. And when they stared at each other, in that moment, Sam didn’t say a word. But in place of that silence, he mouthed the word, “Yes,” with a small nod.

It was then that Alan felt himself starting to shake, a rattle that started at his feet and moved its way up his body. He laughed to express some of the sudden nervous energy, and when Sam saw that, he began to do the same, laughing as they continued to hug each other, laughing between the loud crashes of fireworks in the air and the dancing lights and the sudden attention of a crowd, eyes turned on them-

A voice from not too far away, “Congratulations!”

Sam called back a “Thank you!” before he bowed to some applause, gesturing to Alan to look. And upon seeing those jubilant faces, the beaming faces of people he didn’t know and had never met, he himself couldn’t stop smiling.

When he pulled Sam back into another embrace, he couldn’t stop kissing him. But it wasn’t passionate, or sensual, just- Impulsive, erratic, spontaneous. For every time he wanted to shake or laugh, he’d kiss him instead. On his face, on his mouth, then on his hands, kissing them like a gentleman to a prince.

And he happened to notice that photograph, still held in place between two of Sam’s fingers. He took the opportunity to take it back, lifting it up to show him again. Sam just smiled, not entirely sure what to expect.

Alan leaned in very closely, speaking quietly so only Sam could hear, “For the past seven months, I’ve looked at this every day. This is my favorite thing in the world... apart from you.”

“Me and Marv,” Sam jokes, as he leans back to face him directly again.

“My family,” Alan smiles.

Sam doesn’t reply immediately, but he…

He starts to smile again, “Thank you, Alan.”

That smile, that smile that could light up the whole world. When he talks his voice is the sweetest sound, a reassuringly joyful murmur, “Now lemme see that ring.”

The man lifts up the box, opening the lid once again—as it apparently had closed itself in the shuffle—to reveal a simple, masculine silver ring. No stone, but a small engraving along the inside.

Sam lifts it out, and holds it up to the light. _1402 East Winchester._

The fireworks are dying down; the crowd is becoming less chaotic and the ambiance is turning more peaceful as he murmurs, “What is this, Alan?”

Alan smiles sheepishly, before bowing a little and answering, “I found us a house. I can’t guarantee it’s the one we’ll retire in, but it’s a charming place, well within our budget, and-”

But Sam doesn’t wait for him to finish. He jumps up and throws himself at him, pushing him back a little as he steals another embrace. But even after he settles down, he doesn’t pull back. He just sinks into the man’s arms, as if his legs could no longer stand on their own. And he sighs, a pleasant little sound that’s more of a whine than a complaint.

“Sam?” Alan asks, gently.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice a faint murmur.

“We don’t have to move right away, either,” Alan hesitantly finishes what he was saying. “We’ve got the money to burn to just hold it, for whenever you’re ready-”

Sam interrupts him with a kiss, planted firmly on his mouth. He grins at him, “Sounds good.”

“Yeah, and it’s got a good-sized yard for Marv, or even another dog if you want a second one.”

“And we can build our little family,” he laughs.

“Sure,” Alan says, point-blank.

Sam grins, “Does it have a picket fence?”

Alan laughs, “You think I’d forget that detail?”

-

The photograph, now in a frame on the wall. It sits above a small fireplace, with a small bundle of flames crackling inside it.

A few feet away, across the polished wooden floor is a couch, and at the foot of this couch is a small dog, curled into a ball in a hand-woven basket lined and fluffed with an old t-shirt. And on this couch is an elongated body, a sleeping man whose feet dangle off the edge, his face pressed against a cushion at the other end.

His hand hangs off the edge, fingers outstretched into empty air, as if, deep in his dream, he’s reaching for someone’s hand. And on one of those fingers, one away from the far right digit, is a silver ring that shines in the dim room.

In that silent room, silence disrupted only by the rhythmic sounds of that boy and that dog breathing, there’s the faint sound of footsteps as a man steps in, walking across the room slowly and cautiously, to avoid waking either one of them.

He kneels beside that couch, and pauses for a moment, before he carefully lifts the boy’s hand, and kisses it. And when the sleeping man stirs, and opens his eyes, Alan says, “I’m home, Sam.”

Despite being somewhat asleep still, Sam smiles and murmurs, “Hey Alan.”


End file.
